War: Sentinel
by Kelana-ti
Summary: A newly Knighted Jedi and her squad of clone commandos are stranded on a Seperatist held planet-and their only allies are a Clan of Mandalorians. A tale of discovery, truth, and family. Eventual OC/OC.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or anything like planets, weapons, or cultures that can be recognized as Star Wars. I also don't own the song lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. I do own pretty much all the characters in this fic, and the planet Misha where most of the first part of the story will take place.

**War: Sentinel**

"_A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest, this is war. /To the leader, the pariah, the victor, the messiah, this is war."_

_30 Seconds to Mars—'This is War'_

**Prologue**

_**Republic Cruiser**_** Resilience**_**, Gym, 2 years After the Battle of Geonosis**_

Kiera Jodell moved fluidly across the practice mat, blue eyes closed. Her hands moved, blocking the strike of an invisible enemy, than her fists darted out in a one-two motion as if hitting the nose and solar plexus. Her bare feet moved silently as she stepped through the kata, meditating as much as she was fighting. Sometimes the young Jedi found that the best way to clear her mind of the thoughts that begged her attention was to give her body something to do. This was one of those times.

She was a Jedi Knight. Kiera didn't feel like one, though. It seemed only yesterday that she was a Padawan, returning to Coruscant with her Master from yet another undercover mission. As Sentinels, undercover missions were typical for them, but after the war started, things had changed. Cloak and dagger operations blended with full out battles, until Kiera wondered how the galaxy would ever go back to 'normal.'

The nineteen-year old knew that the only reason she was made a Knight now was because of the War. The Clone Wars were killing more Jedi than any other time in recent memory. War did that. The Republic was desperate, fighting the war on multiple fronts (a tactic that didn't make sense to Kiera. If they wanted to end the war, why not concentrate their forces on the Home worlds of the Confederacy?) The Galactic Republic needed more Jedi. So Kiera and Master Trael returned to Coruscant as Master and apprentice, and left as equals.

Thank the Force that Kiera's first mission as a Jedi Knight would have her working side-by-side with her former Master. Things didn't have to change yet.

She blocked with her forearm, sidekicked, and mimed an elbow strike to the head. Turned, and repeated. Cross block, knifehand strike, kick. Kiera allowed the movements to clear her mind, and opened herself to the Force. It didn't matter anymore that it was in the middle of the night and that she was the only one in the large gym, or that she was on her way to another mission in a war that was tearing the galaxy apart, or even that lately, Kiera felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff about to jump, and didn't know what waited for her at the bottom. It was just her and the Force, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Keira moved through kata after kata, and sunk ever deeper into the Force, until with a blast of cold air that almost blew her off her feet she emerged out of the meditation trance. She wasn't on the Republic Cruiser anymore.

No,_ she corrected herself. _I'm having a Force Vision_. _

_Reassured, Kiera took in her surroundings. She stood in the middle of an arena, surrounded on all sides by high stone-gray walls with a shield meant to keep whatever happened to be in the arena inside. Cold wind blew auburn hair into her eyes, and she pulled it way, trying to get a clearer picture of where she was. Beyond the shield, seats rose even higher, filled with beings of all sorts, jeering and placing bets. A chill ran through the young Jedi, and it wasn't just from the cold. _This is a Gladiator ring.

_ Blaster fire sounded behind her, and Kiera whirled around. What looked like a human woman wearing red Mandalorian armor was shooting at a large creature that looked like a nightmarish cross between an arctic bird and a bear. One of the blasts hit the monster in one of its six legs, and it screeched in rage. Before the woman—girl really, Kiera could feel that the Mandalorian was younger than she was—could take advantage of the injury, the creature knocked her to the ground and darted it's head forward, beak-like mouth open for the kill. Instinctively, Kiera tried to rush forward, but she was rooted where she stood, unable to intervene._

_ She needn't have worried, however. The Mandalorian slid under the creature's head, ejected a vibroblade from her gauntlet, and punched the monster's throat. Blood spewed everywhere, soaking the creature's white feathers. The girl rolled away from the dying animal, picked up her blaster from where it had fallen, and sprang to her feet. The crowd roared in excitement, pumping their fists. _

_ Kiera watched, her heart in her throat, as the girl's red helmet moved slowly back and forth. Kiera knew that she was ignoring the dying animal, and trying to peer through the dust kicked up by the fight. The Mandalorian's Force sense was on edge and ready to fight, so she thought the fight wasn't over. There was something unusual about her, though. She was battle ready, but… Kiera sucked in a breath, shocked and a little outraged. _The Mandalorian didn't want to be there. _The Jedi could see it, now. The girl was a prisoner, just as much as the dead creature had been._

_ Before Kiera could calm herself down, she sensed a dark presence that caused her hair to stand on end. Straining her eyes, she could just barely see a cloaked figure in black approaching the girl from behind. Kiera tried to cry out, but the Mando was already whirling around to face the new threat. She fired, and the cloaked man—his presence was definitely male—deflected the bolts with a lightsaber. A _red_ lightsaber. Before Kiera could fully take in the fact that the man was a Dark Jedi, he was on the offense. Dodging the girl's hopeless attempts to kill him, he kicked her in the head, dislodging her helmet. The force behind the kick spun the Mandalorian around and to her knees. _

_ Kiera's eyes met the girl's, and she felt a chill run up her spine. The red armored Mando had blue eyes—eyes that Kiera saw every time she looked in the mirror. The shape of her jaw looked familiar, too. The rest of the girl's face, however, was a stranger's. While Kiera only had a split second to take it in, she knew she would remember that face for the rest of her life. The girl was frightened, with short dirty blond hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and a small nose, the girl wasn't that pretty, but not what one would expect to see behind the T-visor of a Mando helmet._

_ The Dark Jedi moved, and the spell was broken. Adrenaline flooded Kiera's system as he raised his lightsaber for the final blow, but the Jedi could do nothing. Horror filled her as the young woman's body fell to the gray, dust covered ground. The last thing Kiera saw before the Force drew her back to the present was an emblem on the girl's armored shoulder—a red shield bearing the silhouette of a flying predator holding a bolt of lightning in its talons._

Kiera jerked back to the here and now, on her hands and knees, trembling. _Blast_. Slowly, she sat up, and rubbed her arms, which were covered in goose bumps. The young woman had never had a vision that intense, that _real_, before. _What does it mean?_ Kiera thought. _Why would the Force show me a Mandalorian being killed by a Dark Jedi?_

Kiera wasn't as strong or as skilled in the Force as most Jedi, but a Jedi did not have to be a Seer to receive visions. They came often to Kiera, at least a few times a year, but they were usually muddled or vague. She could count on one hand the times a vision felt like it had—or would—actually happen.

The Jedi gulped in the ship's recycled air, and reached for the Force, trying to calm herself. Within a minute, her breathing and heart rate had slowed, and she didn't feel so shaky. Kiera cautiously stood up, and wiped away the shoulder-length hair that had become stuck to her face_. I wish I could talk to Master Trael right now, _she thought. _But he wouldn't appreciate me waking him up._

For a moment, she wondered if she should meditate some more, and try to make sense of the vision of the Mandalorian. A wave of exhaustion hit her, and Kiera decided it would be better to try and get some sleep. Exiting the gym, Kiera shivered. The hallway air was a few degrees cooler than the gym, and it took a minute for her to adjust. She staggered to the officers' quarters, hoping to avoid anyone on the nightshift. It would be awkward if any of the clone troopers saw one of their Jedi Generals walking barefoot down a hallway in the middle of the night, just wearing exercise clothes. Kiera was sure she looked like a zombie.

Kiera reached her temporary quarters, and tapped the sensor by the door. It slid open, and entering the room, she raised her right hand to wipe the sweat off her face, then wrinkled her nose. _That didn't work well. Why did I have to forget my towel in the gym? _In fact, Kiera had forgotten her water bottle and shoes, too. She'd have to go back and get them later.

The Jedi wiped her sweaty hand on her pants, and glanced at the wall chrono. Twenty-seven minutes past midnight. The mission briefing was at 0800. Kiera grumbled to herself. "Tonight of all nights, I have to have trouble sleeping. Exercise and meditation was supposed to help, not cause problems." She knew that exercise wasn't the best option when she wanted to sleep, but over the past couple of days she just couldn't stay still. She had too much on her mind. And this latest Force vision just made matters worse. Sure, she was tired now, but she had more to think about.

_Why did the Force show me this? What I saw… does it have something to do with the coming mission?_ Master Trael and Kiera hadn't been briefed while on Coruscant, because the Masters wanted the entire team assembled first. All Kiera knew was that they were supposed to rescue some Jedi that had been captured by the Separatists. _But what does that have to do with a Mandalorian and a Gladiator Ring? Or does the Vision have nothing to do with the mission at all? _That was the thing about Force Visions; just because the Force showed you something, didn't mean it would make sense right away. Or sometimes, ever.

Not bothering to turn the lights on, Kiera padded across the room, her bare feet against the dull gray carpet. The room was small, and occupied by a bed, dresser, and a desk. It was dark, illuminated only by the light of Hyperspace outside the window. In a couple of hours, they would drop out of Hyperspace to pick up the commando squad assigned to the mission. She hoped she would be awake enough then. Kiera stripped, glad to be rid of her sweaty, stinky exercise clothes, and jumped in the shower.

Kiera turned the knob to 'sonic.' While she preferred water, the ultrasonic vibrations would clean her without getting her wet, and Kiera didn't enjoy going to sleep with a damp head. After her shower, Kiera put some sleep clothes on and tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper. Jumping into bed, she curled up between the military-issue sheets, and promised herself she would do some research on Mandalorians tomorrow during breakfast. Hopefully, tomorrow would be better than tonight had been.

~#~

**A/N:** This is my first time writing Star Wars, although I have 'dabbled' in this fandom ever since my dad showed me and my siblings "The Phantom Menace" in grade school. I do wish he had started with "A New Hope," though. :P I have a lot of ideas for these characters, and hope to reach Order 66 and beyond. I'm going to try to write a chapter a month, so if I don't update for a while, feel free to bug me. I wouldn't mind a beta reader to bounce ideas off of, especially if they know Mandalorian and soldier/war culture. I might need a little help keeping things realistic in those areas.

There will eventually be romance, but there won't be any 'detailed' sex scenes anywhere. That being said, the T rating is mostly for violence, profanity of the SW kind, and adult content. Real life stuff that you'd find in a war. And hey, things get interesting when you put clones, Jedi, and Mandos in a blender!

Any feedback would be most welcome!


	2. When We Move

"_When we move /We camouflage ourselves /We stand in the shadows waiting /We live for this and nothing more /We are what You created"_

_-Thousand Foot Krutch – 'E for Extinction'_

**Chapter One: When We Move**

_**Taris, 2 years ABG**_

Rarr Taa Saresh's palace, if it could be called that, was nestled in the mid-levels of the city planet Taris. A large building set between restaurants and an apartment building, the Nightlands Bar and Gambling Hall was, indeed, built like a palace with stone walls, complete with a tower where Saresh made his home.

Government documents said the building was a bar, dance club, and gambling hall, but anyone who knew anything about the fat Twi'lek who owned the place knew Saresh ran the building as a front for his slave trade, was a known Separatist sympathizer, and had a brother who was heavily involved in a pirate gang. The man was scum.

But those weren't the only reasons why the clone sergeant RC-5739, known as Shadow to his friends and brothers, would take personal satisfaction in arresting the _shabuir_.

Epsilon Squad, with Shadow in the lead, walked up the stairs in the servant's passageway of the Nightland's tower, silent despite all their armor and kit. The narrow stone stair way was barely lit with the dim glow panels overhead, and if anyone was unlucky enough to see the Republic commandos, they would seem like large, gray armored shadows; with their helmet's external visor lights off, they were very hard to see, even with the colored designs on their armor.

Shadow raised his right fist, and the squad came to a stop. With a blink, the building's blueprints came up on the display, or HUD, inside his helmet. Just around the corner was the servant's door to Saresh's quarters, and even with this being a corridor only traveled by slaves, there would probably be guards.

The sergeant crouched down beside the left wall, and the rest of the clones stood quietly behind him, DC-17ms in hand, as tense as a pack of strills on the hunt. They were normally a chatty bunch, but while they _had_ been assigned this mission by General Zey, it was also _personal_. The Mandalorian mercenary Dajun Kelborn, the former training sergeant for most of the squad, had been hired by the Republic to investigate Separatist activities in the Misha system, a system that Saresh's brother was highly involved in. Sergeant Dajun's last report had come from this very building, and he hadn't been heard from since. Even more disturbing from the Republic's point of view was that Kelborn's report had said the Separatists were holding several Jedi hostage on Misha, but despite that it was still unclear exactly what the Confederacy was up to there. So they sent Epsilon Squad to kidnap Saresh and take him to the Republic Cruiser _Resilience_ for interrogation.

_Except we don't give a _shab_ why the Republic wants him_, Shadow thought. _We just want to make him tell us what happened to Sergeant Dajun._ Out of the four man commando squad, only one, Tracyn, had a different training sergeant. And Tracyn was perfectly willing to go along with Shadow's plan of roughing Saresh up before handing him over to the Jedi.

Shadow pulled a strip-cam out of his belt, and slowly edged it around the corner. Flimsi-thin, the mini video camera sent an image back to his and the rest of the squad's helmets. The glow panels overhead were dim, but even in the low lighting the clone had no trouble seeing what was around the corner, after he found the perfect angle. Two Weequay stood guard at the door around the corner; one of the humanoid aliens looked half asleep, while the other was bobbing his head in time to a beat only he could hear.

Behind Shadow, Forr, the squad's slicer and mechanic, snorted. "What is this, put _di'kute_ on guard day? What is that one doing, listening to music?"

"Looks like," said Tracyn, tilting his red and gray helmet to the side. With their helmets on and their external audio off, no one but the squad could hear the exchange.

"Forr, are the security cameras still seeing what we want them to see?" Shadow asked, putting the strip-cam away.

Forr nodded. "Yes, Sarge." He had hacked into the security system earlier, and recorded a two minute feed from each of the cameras the squad would be passing, and put those feeds on repeat. It should be a while until the people on watch in the security center noticed, and by then, the clones and the Twi'lek scumbag would be long gone.

"Good." Shadow waved a hand toward the idiotic guards around the corner. "I'll take the _di'kut_ on the left, Forr, you take the _di'kut_ on the right. Jatne, Tracyn, watch our backs."

Tracyn and Jatne nodded. Shadow and Forr holstered their blaster rifles; they would be taking out the guards _quietly_. Sounds carried easily in these stone halls; blasterfire was a very recognizable sound, but few beings would notice a couple muffled thuds. The sergeant raised a fist, and counted down. _Three, two, one_.

Shadow spun around the corner and stood in one smooth motion, Forr right behind him. Shadow's target, the guard listening to music, jerked when he saw the clone. Six feet tall, very well built, and covered head to toe in 44 pounds worth of matte gray armor and supplies, Shadow knew he was quite a sight. Not that the Weequay could do anything about it, with the commando only being three feet away.

Before the guard could scream or draw his weapon, the clone was on him. Shadow flicked his right wrist, and with a _shunck_ sound of metal on metal ejected the vibroblade hidden under his knuckle plate. His left hand grabbed the Weequay's braided topknot, and twisting his armored body to the side, sliced the blade across the guard's throat. The alien let out a cut off gasp, and Shadow pulled back, avoiding most of the spray of blood from the cut arteries.

Shadow let the guard's body fall, and turned to check on Forr. The gray and orange armored clone had the second guard in a headlock. A twist of Forr's hands and arms, a _crack_ like a green branch snapping, and the leather-faced alien slumped to the ground, neck broken.

The brothers exchanged a nod, and Forr settled himself besides the durasteel reinforced door panel, while Shadow pulled a cleaning cloth out of his belt. There would be little point in cleaning off the blood that dotted his right glove and his green gauntlet, but he could clean his vibroblade before retracting it back under his knuckle plate. If he didn't now, it would be a real pain in the _shebs_ to clean later.

But if Shadow was completely honest to himself, that wasn't the real reason he chose to clean it now, nor was it because while Forr's hacking skills were considerable, it would still take at least a minute. No, cleaning his kit was a soothing, familiar action, and would reassure the squad better than pacing would.

At least, that's what he told himself; his brothers probably noticed anyway.

Shadow was uneasy, worried, and he didn't like it. He had known Dajun Kelborn all his life; he knew the mercenary could take care of himself. But the Mandalorian hadn't sent a report, and he hadn't called in. The clone used to think Kelborn was invincible, but that was before he left Kamino. Before he and his millions of brothers had been deployed to fight in the Republic's war. Two years of war had taught Shadow that death was always around the corner.

He had lost one of his closest _vode_ on Geonosis; that was when Tracyn was assigned to the squad, to replace the brother they lost. He had seen Jedi die.

Even _Cuy'val Dar_ – 'those who no longer exist,' the men and women, bounty hunters and mercenaries Jango Fett had called on to train the commandos – even they died.

_Cuy'val Dar_ like Dajun Kelborn.

And Shadow didn't like it; didn't like thinking that maybe the one constant in his short life he could always count on –except for his brothers – would no longer be there.

Because there were only two reasons why Sergeant Kelborn would not call in at the appointed time; if he was captured, or dead.

Tracyn moved to stand beside Forr, his intention for a conversation clear in his deliberate body language. Shadow put both cloth and vibroblade away, glad for a distraction from his worrying.

"So, _ner vod_, how's the slicing coming?" Tracyn asked, leaning against the stone wall. "You do know that we might only have minutes until the guards were supposed to check in, right?"

Forr grunted, his helmet unwavering from his datapad he had hooked to the door panel. However, that didn't mean much for a man wearing a helmet; Forr could be eyeing Tracyn through the 360 degree view in his HUD, or checking bolo-ball scores on the holonet, for all his brothers would know. "For your information," the slicer said, "I've been looking at the security cams in Saresh's room and putting them on repeat. The _shabuir_ has what looks like a slave girl in there with him; both asleep, so keep your head out of the gutter. Saresh also has a really lousy taste in décor, too. I'm tempted to scrap that one statue as a favor to society."

Tracyn crossed his arms and snorted. "How do you know what's in style?"

Shadow felt a surge of pity for the slave girl, and hoped she wouldn't complicate things. They were supposed to grab Saresh and be gone before his guards could mount a rescue, and they didn't need a bondswoman throwing a hydrospanner into the operation.

His eyes drifted to the last member of their squad, Jatne. He was standing at the corner of the landing, blaster rifle in his arms, a navy and gray figure watching his brothers' backs. The sniper had barely spoken since they learned Kelborn was missing, and Shadow was worried about him. They all coped with stress and worry in different ways; Shadow focused on leading his men, Forr mouthed off and made bad jokes, Tracyn picked on Forr… and Jatne brooded.

That there was enough proof to knock down any civilian or Senator's idea that all clones were the same. But that didn't concern Shadow at the moment; as the squad's sergeant and medic, he was responsible for the well-being of his squad brothers, both physical and emotional. And he had long ago decided brooding was not a healthy pastime for Jatne, even if he rarely did so. Jatne was usually upbeat, and a bit of a philosopher, if a clone created only for war could be called one. But after their squad brother, Beviin, had died on Geonosis, Jatne had taken it the hardest out of all of them. The sniper had brooded for weeks, until Shadow and Forr had snapped him out of it.

_I really hope Kelborn is alive_, Shadow thought. _For all our sakes._

"_Osik_!" Forr quickly pulled the plug connecting his datapad to the door panel. "The girl's about to open the door!"

"And why didn't you notice earlier?" Shadow asked, annoyed. He gave a hand signal, and the squad pressed themselves against the wall. "Just follow my lead."

"It's not my fault," Forr muttered. "You try hacking into a triple encrypted security system with different codes for every _shabla_ door…!"

The servant's door slid open, and a young Zeltron female stepped out into the passageway. Shadow honestly wasn't surprised to see a Zeltron here; they were a common choice for slaves, being one of the more exotic near-humans in the known galaxy. Their bright coloration, mild telepathy, and pheromones all made them extremely attractive to humanoids.

The Zeltron was looking down, rose-colored hands adjusting her clothes (which were really nothing more than a purple bikini and see-through lavender scarfs). Her deep blue long hair covered her face, possibly accounting for why she didn't immediately notice the clones or the dead guards.

Forr's gloved finger touched the door panel, closing it right behind her. The girl jerked, and raised her head, lavender-gray eyes taking in the commandos, the dead Weequay, and the blood covered floor…

Eyes wide, her full lips parted to scream, but Shadow quickly snaked his left arm over her shoulders and covered her mouth with his gloved hand, pressing her against his side that was not covered in blood. "Please don't scream," he said gently, his helmet audio set to external. The sergeant held his blaster rifle against his right side, away from her. He didn't want to scare the Zeltron, even if he already did by his very presence. But he also had to keep her quiet.

She stopped struggling, and a flash of recognition crossed her face as she eyed the clones' armor. The rise and fall of her chest slowed, and she let out an "Mmmf!" of annoyance.

Forr chuckled. "I think that's a 'Let me go, I'll be quiet,' Sarge."

Shadow nodded, and slowly moved his hand, ready to cover her mouth again. The pink-skinned girl didn't scream, however, and stood still, face blank. The only clue as to how she was feeling was a slight shake in her hands.

Stepping back, Shadow got a good look at her face for the first time. He felt his gut twist in a strange mix of anger and sympathy as he realized just how_ young_ she was. The Zeltron couldn't be older than seventeen.

Jatne shifted in place, and his helmet turned towards the sergeant. "Shadow, what are we going to do with her?" he asked, speaking softly even if it was over the squads' private channel, and the girl wouldn't hear.

Shadow nodded absently, one of Dajun Kelborn's many life lessons echoing in his mind:_ "Always treat a woman with respect, an' it don't matter if they're a senator, Jedi, bounty hunter, or hooker."_ He had gone on to say there were always exceptions to any rule, but none of those exceptions really applied here.

Kelborn had tried his best to give his commando trainees the most out of whatever life they had. Kelborn had answered the call of his _Mand'alor_, Jango Fett, to train a company of special forces troops; _not_ a hundred boys genetically altered to age twice as fast as they should. Despite his frustrations, the Mandalorian didn't take out his hatred for the Kaminoans—or his resentment toward Fett—on his boys. On the contrary, Kelborn had done his best to teach all his boys their Mandalorian heritage.

Shadow remembered fondly the night Kelborn took Epsilon Squad bar-hopping on Coruscant after the Clone Wars started, when he and his brothers first learned to enjoy female company; he knew for a fact Epsilon wasn't the only squad Kelborn had taken to a bar, either. He also remembered Kelborn's joy when Jatne told him he had a girlfriend—even though clone/civilian relationships were frowned on by the Army's higher ups. The non-Jedi higher ups, at any rate.

This brought Shadow back to the Zeltron slave girl standing in front of him, eyeing him and his brothers with poorly disguised anxiety written across her face. Two years ago, when the war just started, Shadow might have just knocked her out to avoid dealing with a civilian and a gender he had no experience with, as well as to keep her out of the way of the mission. Now Shadow knew a little more about females, though he wouldn't claim by a long shot to be an expert. And a small, rebellious part of him whispered that maybe he could sympathize with her so well because, in a way, her situation wasn't that different from his. Neither of them were free.

But at this point in time, she was far closer to freedom than the commando feared he would ever be.

"Shadow, we don't have time for this," Tracyn hissed.

"I know," the sergeant sighed. "Just give me a minute."

Shadow took his helmet off one-handed, and as the Zeltron's lavender eyes met his honey-brown gaze, her own features softened. Shadow saw her nostrils flare, and guessed that she was breathing in his scent—humans may not give off pheromones, but their scent could still tell a Zeltron a lot.

Behind the girl, Tracyn moved to take Jatne's place on watch, while Jatne moved to stand besides Shadow, taking his helmet off as well. The Zeltron's face went slack with surprise; Shadow couldn't blame her, when he and Jatne had the same strong features and the same military-length black hair. They were clones, after all, completely identical looks-wise to every brother in the army, baring scars, tattoos, or dyed hair. And Shadow and Jatne had none of those differences.

"We're not going to hurt you, _ad'ika_," Shadow told her softly. _Little one_.

"I know." The girl glanced at Jatne and the rest of the squad, then her gaze returned to Shadow. "You're clones, right? From the Republic?"

Shadow nodded. "Yes. We're here on a mission, and the cops will be here soon to pick up the pieces." At the Zeltron's hopeful expression, he continued, giving her a small smile. "Yes, they're breaking up the illegal slave trade here. You'll be free. But my squad and I have a mission to finish, so I'm going to have to ask you to find a safe place and keep quiet until this all blows over."

She was beaming. "Thank you! I will." The Zeltron turned toward the stairs, than hesitated, face pale as she again noticed the blood covering the stone floor. "Umm…"

Frowning, Shadow realized that she was barefoot, and for an inexplicable moment wished he had killed the guard cleanly.

Jatne, who had watched the whole exchange with interest, holstered his blaster and slowly approached the girl. "Miss, do you want me to carry you to the stairs?" he asked, waving his hand toward the mess on the floor.

The blue-haired girl eyed him for a moment, then nodded, relieved. "Yes, please."

Forr muttered something that sounded like "Lucky _shabuir_," but his brothers and the girl ignored him. Jatne gave her a reassuring smile and carefully picked up the slave girl, bridal style. Shadow couldn't help but notice the oddness of the sight; a brightly colored, scantily-clad slave girl held in the arms of an armored commando. Very few of the women Shadow had spent much time with had ever looked so vulnerable.

Jatne easily carried her to the top of the stairs, his boots leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the landing. He set her down on her feet, but before he could fully let her go the Zeltron rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She then gave the squad a wide smile. "All of you. And good luck!" She practically skipped down the stairs and out of sight.

Shadow slipped his helmet back on, chuckling. "Forr's right, _vod_. You_ do_ have all the luck."

Frowning, Jatne put his helmet on as well—Shadow was sure Jatne was relieved, because he wouldn't want his brothers seeing him blush either. Jatne snorted. "Before you say anything Forr, that does _not_ count as cheating on my girlfriend, so please save any wisecracks for _after_ the mission."

Before Forr could respond, the Zeltron's head poked around the corner, and Shadow stared at her, surprised. _What could she want?_

"One more thing," she said. The Zeltron then gave a rather vivid description of what she hoped the clones would do with a certain part of Saresh's anatomy. Startled, they broke out laughing, safe in the confines of their helmets, where the sound wouldn't carry. The girl smiled and disappeared, this time for good.

After they finished laughing, Shadow cleared his throat. _Well, that cheered us up, but it's still a reminder of why we're here. _The encounter had also given form to thoughts and feelings that, until now, had stayed hidden in the back corners of his mind. Shadow pushed them back, but resolved to bring them out into the light, when he had time to think about such things. "Alright, back to business, and let's remember why we're here; arrest Saresh, and learn what happened to Sergeant Kelborn. Forr, if that interruption means you have to start hacking all over again, we'll just blow the door open."

"Not to worry, I've already got the passcode," Forr said, moving back to the door. "Ready to open it on your mark, Sarge."

Shadow nodded and drew his DC-17, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon in his hands, helping him remember just what he was here for. He blinked at his HUD and opened a channel to Joyride, the clone pilot who would fly the squad and their prisoner to the _Resilience_. "We're ready to go. Are you in position?"

"Yes, sir," Joyride answered. "I've landed the TIV on a roof opposite the front of the Nightlands. One word, and I can be hovering right outside Saresh's balcony."

"Good." Shadow disconnected, and turned to his squad. "Let's go."

Jatne and Tracyn stacked each side of the door, while Forr scooted to the side to make room. At Shadow's hand signal, Forr pressed a button on his datapad. "Bang in, bang out, don't hit the door on your way out."

The rest of the squad groaned, and Forr chuckled, but before any of the others could give Forr the usual threats of bodily harm, the door quietly slid open, revealing Saresh's sleeping quarters. Tracyn and Jatne went in first, DC's at the ready, then Shadow; Forr entered last, after he disconnected his datapad. Then the door slid shut, plunging the room into almost total darkness, the only light coming from the neon signs and speeder headlights peeking in through the shade-covered windows.

With the night-vision feature in Shadow's helmet, he had no trouble seeing in the dim light of the room. The room was shaped in a large rectangle, with two windows to the right with a door opening onto the balcony in-between, with a door to the left leading to the corridor, and one right next to the servant's door, probably leading to the refresher. Across the dark, thick carpet was a scattering of white chairs around a table, with a truly hideous statue sitting on top. Saresh's king-sized bed rested against the far wall.

Shadow motioned Tracyn and Forr against the left wall, and he and Jatne took the right. Slowly, the brothers crept across the room, alert for any danger the shadows might be hiding, until they reached the bed and the large Twi'lek snoring on top of it.

Shadow's lips curved away from his teeth in a snarl of disgust as he eyed their target. Rarr Taa Saresh's sheets were drawn up only to his hips, revealing himself in all his fat, opulent glory. The peach-colored Twi'lek was on his back, his two lekku—head tails—spread across his pillow. From what Shadow could see, Saresh was wearing only boxers, in every respect reminding the commando of a beached whale. A snore escaped the Twi'lek's nose, and a trail of drool ran down his cheek.

"Yeesh," Forr snorted. "I don't think I'll ever understand how civilians can let themselves get so fat, let alone stay like that. You'd think with all his money, he could afford a personal trainer."

"Visor lights on," Shadow said softly, voice tight in anticipation. With a blink, the soft blue glow of his helmet's T-visor came on, his brother's coming on as well. The clone didn't know why the Kaminoan armorsmiths had added that feature to the commandos gear. Normal troops didn't have it, and not even the ARCs personally trained by Fett had that feature. The visor, when lit up, didn't add or subtract anything from the commando's experience. Their HUDs still worked the same, and they could still see just as well as with their night vision. Shadow thought it might just be for special effects. A lit T-visor marked the commandos as different, and most sentients seemed to find the blue glow a little creepy.

When Saresh woke up, his eyes unadjusted to the dark, the first things he would see would be four T shapes glowing blue and seemingly hovering above the bed. Shadow chuckled at the thought. "Let's do this."

Shadow stuffed a gag into Saresh's open mouth, waking the Twi'lek, whose red eyes widened as he struggled to see his assailants. Shadow stepped back as Jatne and Tracyn grabbed Saresh's thick arms in a vise-like grip and dragged him across to the foot of the bed and onto the floor. The two commandos hauled the Twi'lek to his feet, as his lekku stiffened and curled at the edges in fear, as his whole body shook.

Forr stood watch near the balcony door as Shadow contacted the pilot. "We've got him, Joyride. Come on over."

"Right away, sir," the other clone answered.

Shadow stalked toward Saresh, who stood quivering as the sergeant approached. The Twi'lek stood shorter than the clone, but was definitely heavier, even if you counted the armor and kit. The slaver wasn't just fat; he was obese.

"Rarr Taa Saresh," Shadow said softly over the external mike, his voice full of ice, "you're under arrest for owning and trading slaves, for treason against the Galactic Republic, and for suspicions regarding the disappearance of Dajun Kelborn, a mercenary under contract to the Grand Army of the Republic."

Saresh sagged against Tracyn and Jatne, and started to sweat. Light from the clones' ship swept across the room, the sound of its engines humming against the window shades. "You have no choice but to come quietly"—Shadow allowed himself a dark chuckle at that—"and under the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act, you will receive _no_ lawyer." He casually held his blaster in his left hand, and waved his right toward the balcony and the ship that was hovering above it. "Get him on board."

"Yes sir," Tracyn said as he and Jatne practically carried the half-naked Twi'lek outside.

"You do know," Forr stated calmly as he started walking toward the door, "that under that same Act, as a traitor Saresh practically has no rights, so you don't have to read him any?"

"Hell yes, I do," Shadow answered letting his voice drip in exaggerated amusement. "But it's so much _fun_ to see them squirm."

Forr snickered. "Alright, Sarge." The slicer stepped out the door, then turned back. "You coming, _ner vod_?"

"Just a minute." Shadow's voice sounded distant to his own ears, as he noticed what was leaning against the coat rack besides the door.

Shadow took two quick strides to the coat rack and bent down slightly to pick up the object that had captured his attention so completely. It was a short sword, in a sheath made of wood and leather. Straps made of cured black leather still clung to the sheath, signaling that the owner had worn the sword strapped to his back. The clone griped the blue-dyed leather bound hilt, and realized his hands were shaking. This was no fancy sword meant for show. Shadow's soul chilled, as if an ice wind from Hoth had blown up his back.

He was almost certain, now, what happened to Dajun Kelborn. But he still had to be sure.

"Shadow?" Forr's helmet turned toward his brother, his voice concerned.

The sergeant brushed past him, and strode across the balcony, his boots hitting the duracrete surface in anger, but the sound was barely heard above the noise of the ship. Shadow was dimly aware that he had holstered his rifle, and was tightly holding the sword in his right hand. "Get in the ship."

In his helmet's 360 degree view Shadow saw Forr hurrying to catch up, but he was no more aware of that then he was of the wind blown up by the ship's repulsorlift drive, or of the sirens as the local cops arrived, or of the kilometer drop off the balcony, and the view of the nighttime city planet that afforded. For a split second, the galaxy had narrowed down to Shadow, the short sword, and Saresh, the sniveling _hut'uun_ who called himself a man.

Shadow jumped on board the ramp of the ship, and marched into the passenger compartment. The clone's ship was a Traffic Interdiction Vessel, or TIV, meant for hijacking enemy ships, but it worked just as well as transportation for other missions commandos were sent on. The passenger compartment was small, nothing more than a room with benches along the walls. The TIV was meant to carry five crew members, and in cramped quarters at that.

As soon as Shadow and Forr were on board, the ramp was raised, the door closed, and they were off, heading for the atmosphere and the space and stars above. Tracyn and Jatne were holding Saresh upright in the corner near the cockpit door, which was closed, Shadow was glad to see. One of them must have already talked to Joyride; he was a good brother, and Shadow was sure he wouldn't rat out the squad, but he didn't want Joyride implicated in what they were going to do either. Shadow didn't trust the Jedi to get the information from Saresh that the squad wanted; no, needed. Most Jedi wouldn't give a rat's_ shebs_ about a Mando mercenary, but Shadow and the clones Kelborn had trained would do almost anything to discover the truth. For taking an interrogation into their own hands against orders, the squad could be court-martialed, or worse, depending on the Jedi or other officer who discovered it. But Shadow didn't plan on anyone finding out, and they wouldn't, not if he did this right.

The harsh glow panels on the ceiling threw everything into stark light and shadow, turning the bulkheads and benches into a pale shiny metal. Even in this bright light the commando's matte gray armor didn't shine much, and the blue glow of their T-visors were faded. But from the way that Saresh's red eyes darted back and forth, and from the rank smell of fear rolling off him, seeing the commandos in full light did nothing to reassure him.

"Shadow… is that what I think it is?" Forr asked, motioning a blue-gauntleted arm toward the sword in the sergeant's blood-covered right hand.

"I think so." Shadow gripped the leather-wrapped hilt in his left hand, and with a soft wood on metal sound drew the sword. The blade was 45 centimeters long, a long knife, really, meant to be wielded one-handed. It was sharpened only on one edge, and curved upwards to a point. The weapon was surprisingly heavy, weighing about 2 kilograms. The commando waved it back and forth a little, feeling its balance, letting the light reflect off its deadly point.

Speaking on external audio so Saresh could hear, he said, "This is no normal sword. It's a _beskad_."

A _beskad_ was a Mandalorian sword, deadly and functional. Properly forged, not even a lightsaber would scratch a _beskad_.

"And its Dajun Kelborn's," Shadow said, his voice tight. Forr lowered his head in sorrow, and Jatne's grip on Saresh's arm tightened, making the Twi'lek man grunt in pain.

There was no doubt in Shadow's mind. The blue-leather wrapped hilt, the scuffs on the sheath, the nick half-way down the blade a reminder of the owner's fight with another Mandalorian… these were details Shadow remembered well from his unnatural childhood.

_"Sergeant Kelborn, sir, why do you carry a sword?" At the biological age of ten, RC-5739 hadn't earned the name 'Shadow' yet. He looked up at the black and orange armored Mandalorian towering above him, wondering what exactly made him ask that question. It didn't have anything to do with their training. _

_ "Curious, aren't you, _ad'ika_?" Kelborn reached out and ruffled the clone's short hair, catching the boy by surprise. He was a little embarrassed, but it felt… nice._

_ The training sergeant drew the _beskad_, an enigmatic smile tugging at his lips. "It was my father's," Kelborn said, eyeing the sword thoughtfully. "An' it'll never jam, or run out of ammo, an' it's nearly indestructible." He chuckled softly. "You'll learn more in a couple years, when I teach you an' you're brothers how to use blades."_

It was different, Shadow knew, hoping beyond hope that what you knew was wrong, and having the truth unarguably set before you. A small part of Shadow had hoped that Sergeant Dajun was safe, but now, holding the Mandalorian saber in his hand, he knew that Kelborn was definitely in danger… or even beyond help.

And Rarr Taa Saresh was in some way responsible. Even after only two years of experience in the life outside Kamino, Shadow had learned some things about how criminals like Saresh worked; for one thing, they liked trophies, and he assumed the only reason the _beskad_ hadn't been mounted on the wall was because the Twi'lek hadn't gotten around to it yet.

Shadow shifted his gaze from the _beskad_ to Saresh, and scowled beneath his helmet. The Twi'lek cringed under his scrutiny, then gave a muffled yelp as Jatne tightened his grip on his arm. Shadow could feel the rage swelling within himself, like a rising tide, threatening to wash away all reason. The commando pushed it back down; he could _not_ afford to lose control, not now.

Forr had been shifting his feet back and forth, his helmet turning from Shadow, to Saresh, than back again. Over the squad's private channel in his helmet, Shadow heard Forr taking a breath, and the sergeant knew Forr was at the end of his patience. Shadow handed his brother the saber's sheath, effectively cutting off what he had been about to say.

"Tracyn, Jatne, let him go," Shadow said, his voice harsh. His brothers released the Twi'lek and took a couple steps back to give Shadow room. Saresh looked at the clones, as if wondering what was going on; his lekku were trembling so hard they were slapping his back, and a bruise was forming on one of his arms from Jatne's grip.

Shadow took two forceful steps toward Saresh, half-expecting the Twi'lek to back away from him, but the slaver stood frozen. The commando didn't know if it was fear or bravery that held Saresh in place, but he felt a surge of dark satisfaction seeing the Twi'lek tremble at his approach; if Saresh was trying to be strong, it sure as _haran_ wouldn't last long.

Still holding the _beskad_ in his left hand, he took his right and removed the gag from Saresh's mouth, then dropped it to the floor. The Twi'lek gasped in a few breaths, then said, "I've done nothing! You can't prove—"

Shadow punched the Twi'lek in the face, with enough calculated force to knock the fat man into the wall. Saresh almost fell, then reached a trembling hand up to his face, where the edge of Shadow's knuckle plate had left a deep cut on his cheek bone.

"Where is Dajun Kelborn?" Shadow asked, his voice deceptively soft. "He wouldn't be hard to miss; my height, Mandalorian, wears black and orange _beskar'gam_."

A hint of recognition flared in Saresh's eyes, but he said nothing.

Shadow darted forward, his right hand gripping Saresh's throat as he slammed the Twi'lek into the wall. His left hand rose, placing the blade next to the slaver's neck. The commando leaned forward until his helmet was only inches from Saresh's horror stricken face.

"Where is Dajun Kelborn?" Shadow allowed his anger to bleed into his voice, and Saresh flinched at the implied threat of further violence if he didn't talk. The Twi'lek's eyes scanned the room as if looking for help, but the rest of the squad stood almost casually around their sergeant, seemingly unconcerned with their brother's actions.

"K-Kelborn is dead!" Saresh confessed, stuttering.

"No…" the whisper from Jatne drifted over the helmet's internal channel, barely breaking through Shadow's frozen thoughts.

_No… that can't be right_. Dajun Kelborn had survived the Mandalorian Civil War, fighting by Jango Fett's side. How could Shadow's teacher, his mentor, die on a simple information gathering mission?

For a few seconds, Shadow felt like he was drowning, unable to comprehend what he had heard. Even then, he remembered not to tighten his grip on Saresh's neck; a bruise there would be a strong give away as to what Epsilon Squad had done.

Shadow flexed his fingers cautiously, to remind Saresh that he was at the commando's mercy. "How?" he asked hoarsely.

"The S-separatists sent an assassin after him!" Saresh was so scared it looked like he was going to faint. "He was l-learning t-too much!"

Shadow let go of him, and the Twi'lek fell to the floor of the ship, a fat, blubbering mess. The sergeant took a couple shaky steps away from Saresh, trying to wrap his mind around what he had learned. He was barely aware of the rest of his squad, of Jatne flexing his fists in rage, of Forr sitting on a bench, his helmeted head held in his hands, while Tracyn rested a hand on the slicer's shoulder.

"Sixty seconds to lightspeed," the pilot announced over the squad's comlink channel.

For the next minute, Shadow went through the motions, like a sleep walker. He put stun-cuffs on Saresh's wrists, and made sure everyone was seated and secured for the jump to hyperspace.

Only minutes later, long after they had entered hyperspace, did Shadow dwell on how the galaxy had forever changed, in three simple words. _Kelborn is dead_. No… Shadow couldn't believe it. The commando was good at reading body language, and could understand the basics of even a non-human's facial expressions. While it seemed that Saresh was telling the truth…

"I don't believe it," he told his squad softly. "There's not enough proof."

Tracyn shook his head slowly. "Sergeant… we might never know what really happened. True, that son of a barve-" he waved a hand at the Twi'lek "-might be lying, but maybe he isn't. And even if he isn't telling the truth… sometimes, people just disappear. You know this as well as I do." The clone's voice was full of conviction, from the experience of loss he had faced himself.

Shadow knew his brother was right, but he couldn't let go of the hope that Dajun Kelborn was alive, somewhere. He wished Sergeant Dajun would call the squad to check up on them, or give them advice. He wanted to see the mercenary waltz into the Special Ops barracks like he always did for a game of boloball during the squads' leave time, or to give them a slice of _uj_ cake.

More than anything, Shadow wanted to hear him say, one more time, _"Well done, son."_

He wouldn't believe that Dajun Kelborn was dead. As Shadow took the sheathed _beskad_ and slung the strap over his shoulder, settling Kelborn's weapon against his back, he knew he might have to say goodbye to his mentor, his friend, the closest thing he had to a father.

But he couldn't. Not today.

Mando'a translations

_Shabuir_ (SHAH-boo-EER): extreme insult

Tracyn (trah-SHEEN): fire

_Di'kute_ (dee-KOO-tay): plural for _di'kut _(DEE-koot), or idiot

Jatne (JAT-nay): best

_Vode_ (VO-day): plural for_ vod_ (vohd)—brother, sister

_Cuy'val Dar_ (COO-ee-val dahr): "those who no longer exist," those Fett called to train the commandos on Kamino

_Ner_ (nair): my, mine

_Osik_ (OH-sik): impolite form of dung

_Shabla_ (SHAH-bla): impolite form of cursed

_Mand'alor_ (MAHN-dah-lor): sole ruler, king, or head chief of the Mandalorian people, not inherited

_Ad'ika_ (ah-DEE-kah): little one, son, daughter, of any age

_Hut'uun _(hoo-TOON): coward

_Shebs_ (shebs): rear, butt

_Beskad_ (BESS-kahd): slightly curved saber of Mandalorian iron

_Haran_ (HAH-rahn): hell

_Beskar'gam_ (BES-kar-GAM): Mandalorian armor

_Uj_: short for _uj'ayl_ (oo-JAY-ul), a sweet syrup used in cooking

~#~

**A/N:** For _Mando'a_, I'm only going to provide a translation at the bottom of the story if I haven't used the word before. I'm also going to really try to not go overboard on _Mando'a_: believe it or not, I cut a couple words out. Some of you may wonder why I put this in the Clone Wars section, and not the SW games or books with the Republic Commando stuff… trust me, there's a reason. :D

And yeah, this story deserves its T rating.

This is all I've got written for now, and I'm not going to be able to start chapter 2 until next week, after I'm done with my 5 page essay and my last final. :P

Edit: Thank you, CC-645, for reminding me to change the dates.

I would absolutely love reviews! :D They make my day.


	3. Perspectives

**War: Sentinel**

_"Why can't you see that freedom is sometimes just simply another perspective away/ Who could you be if your lens was changed for a moment/ Would you still be the same?"_

_Kutless—'Perspectives'_

**Chapter Two: Perspectives**

_**Republic Cruiser Resilience, Officers Quarters**_

_Kiera was running._

_The alley was dark, dank, and full of the smell of rotting garbage. On either side, tall buildings miles high rose to the sky, a sliver of fading blue with a scattering of orange touched clouds overhead. The sun was setting._

_Kiera ran through the back alleys of Coruscant, breath rasping in her throat, her green Jedi robes billowing behind her. The sound of a hundred metal feet marching on stone echoed off the duracrete around her, chasing her. They had been chasing her for a very long time, but they would not catch her. Kiera knew the Coruscant underworld like she knew the hilt of her lightsaber._

_The Corellian Jedi turned a corner, booted feet splashing in the accumulated rainwater that lay in puddles everywhere on the ground. The alley behind Kiera lit up with red blasterfire, her pursuers just missing her._

_Just ahead, the backstreet split in two. If she took the right fork, Kiera would exit the alleyway into a crowded shopping district, and would be able to lose herself in the crowd._

_But a cloaked man stood in her way, a man so dark he seemed to swallow the evening shadows. _No!_ Kiera thought. _I'm too close to fail now!_ She threw her fist out and sent a massive Force Push at the man. Water drops and flimsi jumped in the air, and the Dark Man practically flew into the alley wall, the breath knocked out of him._

_Kiera was just turning onto the right-hand path when the man drew a lightsaber from his cloak and ignited it, swinging the red blade at the Jedi's head. Kiera ducked, her heart racing in her chest, as the lightsaber just missed her. The fiery blade clipped an inch off her ponytail as it swung over her head, filling the alleyway with the smells of ozone and burnt hair._

_Kiera ran._

_Meters flew beneath her feet, faces of a dozen species passed her by. Kiera left her pursuers behind, and she did not stop. _Almost there.

_The Corellian turned a corner—a blast of cold, clean air hit her, and her heart almost skipped a beat in surprise. She stopped and slid across the dirt to the edge of a cliff, centimeters away from a shear rocky drop. As her feet pushed several pieces of gravel over the edge, Kiera leaned back, arms spread to prevent her from falling. The Jedi could not believe her eyes._

_Coruscant lay behind her, while ahead, a cold untouched wilderness stretched as far as Kiera could see. Miles below, a snow covered forest marched over hills and valleys, until the green pine trees covered in white reached a towering mountain range in the distance, it's sharp ice and rock covered slopes sharp against the darkening sky._

_Metal feet marched, and a lightsaber hummed behind her. She was cornered. Where could she go?_

_Large leather wings behind her eclipsed the setting sun, turning the bright forest before her dark. Fear gripped Kiera as a monster screamed to the sky._

_Two unknown male voices called for her, the first—unknown but familiar, the second sharp with experience._

_"Kiera!"_

_"Jump!"_

~#~

Kiera jerked awake, and for a long minute she lay in bed, blue eyes fixed on the starlit ceiling overhead. Her racing heart slowed, and slowly the young woman sat up, head still muddled by sleep and the residual images of the Vision.

"Not again," she moaned softly.

Tugging at her matted auburn hair, Kiera glanced at her chrono, and was relived to find it was only a few minutes before 0600, when she had planned to wake anyway. "Another Vision," she grumbled as she untangled herself from the gray sheets. _I don't think I've ever had two Visions so close together_, before, she thought. The same one twice, yes. But two different ones?

Placing her bare feet on the floor, Kiera stood, and contemplatively looked out the viewport at the stars. A part of her mind noticed they had dropped out of Hyperspace, but most of her attention was on the Vision she just had. Absently, her fingers flipped off the alarm on the chrono.

"I'm sure I haven't had this one before," she said. "But it's familiar."

Kiera turned on the lights, and pondered the Vision as she got dressed. The Vision reminded her of a recurring dream she'd been having recently, of her running, then standing on the edge of a cliff about to jump, not knowing what waited for her at the bottom. _I thought those were just dreams, they had been so vague, formless_. And whenever Kiera woke, she hadn't been able to remember any details. But this one was so clear, like watching a holovid, or looking at her reflection in a still lake.

The Jedi hooked her lightsaber to her belt, more than ready to talk about her most recent Visions with other Jedi. The Resilience had reached the rendezvous point, but the commando squad wasn't due to arrive for another hour. Besides Kiera, there were three other Jedi on board the Republic Cruiser; her former Master Trael Zanin, Jedi Knight Lindi Morr, and Knight Morr's Padawan, Arvil Syhr. They were all old friends, and had planned a half hour meditation session early this morning, to give them more than enough time to plan for the mission briefing in just a few hours.

Kiera glanced at the chrono, and decided to go ahead and head for the observation room. She would be a few minutes early, but she didn't feel like waiting around here.

~#~

The observation room where the Jedi had chosen to meet was one of several on the ship. It was a long, narrow room with most of one wall taken up by a window offering a picturesque view of the stars and the uninhabited system where they waited. The sun at its center was barely as big as Kiera's pinkie's fingernail, and just visible to the far left was a molted-blue gas giant the size of her fist.

Kiera stood just inside the room as the door closed behind her, just taking it in. _Beautiful_. She had seen such things before, but they took her breath away every time. She may not love flying a ship, but the Corellian would never get tired of what could be seen in space.

She didn't allow herself to linger, however; she wasn't the only one in the room.

Jedi Master Trael Zanin sat in the middle of the chamber, facing the window. Legs crossed and back straight, in his Jedi robes the Wroonian looked like any other Jedi. But Kiera knew that, like her, he was more comfortable in civilian clothing. And while she couldn't see it from here, Kiera also knew his blaster was strapped to his right thigh, just like hers was. Like Master, like Apprentice, she thought wryly.

Unlike her former Master, Kiera's Jedi tunic and pants were the traditional green worn by Jedi who were Corellian, and instead of the hooded robe most Jedi wore, she sported a brown nerf-hide jacket. She had a robe, of course, but kept it in a vacuum sealed pouch in one of her jacket's pockets, and only wore it on special occasions—when she was in the Jedi Temple, or on 'official Jedi business.' Most Jedi Sentinels preferred to blend in with civilians at any opportunity, and Kiera's jacket was her way of doing so.

Lightsaber bouncing against her left hip, Kiera started walking across the gray carpet toward him. The two tables that had rested in the center of the room had been pushed to the side, leaving an empty space large enough for four Jedi to stretch and meditate comfortably.

While he had sensed her presence, Master Trael only acknowledged her when she approached him; then he turned his head, his yellow eyes bright with gentle amusement. The florescent glow panels had been dimmed, and now gave off as much light as the distant golden sun, filling the room with a light more natural than the usual harsh lighting found on a starship. In that lighting, he looked younger, as if the past two years of war hadn't left their mark. Trael Zanin wasn't young anymore, and gray hairs were beginning to appear in his black military short hair and cropped beard. The Jedi's blue skin had been weathered by the suns of many worlds, yet the laugh lines around his face and mouth were gentle.

"Kiera," Trael said warmly. "Come and join me."

The Corellian settled quietly beside him and crossed her legs into a meditative pose. Blue eyes watching the stars, Kiera settled her hands on her knees, and breathed out slowly. It felt comfortable, being beside Master Trael, as she had these past seven years. While the middle-aged Jedi Sentinel had taught her everything he knew, he was more than a mentor. He was a friend.

Kiera could feel his gaze on her now, and felt the familiar touch of his mind against hers, as gentle and firm as a hand on her shoulder. "Something troubles you, my former Padawan," Trael observed.

"Yes, Master," Kiera said, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "I had two Visions last night."

Trael raised an eyebrow, his yellow eyes thoughtful. "You did, hmm? Two in one night… that's unusual."

The Jedi glanced at each other, and Kiera suppressed a sigh. She was going to miss this; the camaraderie, the relationship she had with Master Trael. She was a Jedi Knight now, and would be going on her own missions, without him. The work of a Sentinel was necessary—they did what Guardians and Consulars wouldn't, or couldn't, do. Tracking serial killers, going undercover in criminal organizations, hunting dark siders. Kiera had done all these things with her former Master. Missions like those were important, dangerous—and without a partner, often lonely. A Sentinel could almost always count on the local law enforcement, or on the Antarian Rangers, but that was usually only as the mission demanded.

"Well, Kiera," Trael said, interrupting her thoughts. "Why don't you tell me about them?"

~#~

**Resilience_, port mess hall_**

The large room was like any typical army mess hall on a Cruiser; gray walls, durasteel tables and benches scuffed with use. At 0700 in the morning it was full of men grabbing breakfast. The day shift had drilled already, and the night shift was having one last meal before crashing in the barracks. The room was crowded, full of clones talking at all volumes possible, and it smelled of army food and men, a smell that seemed like it would never leave, no matter how clean the room was. The mess wasn't just a place for eating; it was a place for socializing, for unofficial post-battle briefings. In many ways, it was the center of clone society just as much as the barracks were.

Kiera loved it.

"Why do we have to eat in here again?" Jedi Padawan Arvil Syhr asked. "It's crowded, and it's loud. I thought you wanted to get some research done!"

Kiera walked around a knot of men from Nexu Company, then found a couple empty spots at the end of a table. She set her laden food tray down, and Arvil reluctantly followed suit, her green eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Sitting down, Kiera smiled up at the Cathar. "Oh, come on, you get along well with the clones. I don't see what the problem is." Kiera knew exactly what the problem was.

Skirt swishing, Arvil sat down across from Kiera, then flattened her golden ears, her white earing studs catching the light from the glowpanels above. "I can't understand how you can concentrate when it's noisy."

Kiera snorted. "I may be a private person, but I enjoy being with people."

This was an old argument, one they had repeated ever since they were younglings. The two friends liked to study together, but they were always at odds as to where to study. Kiera liked noise, whether it was music or people talking, and so liked studying in any one of the cafeterias scattered around the Jedi Temple. Arvil, on the other hand, liked quiet, and so preferred doing research in the library. If they had been at the Temple, they would have compromised, and studied in one of their rooms with Kiera listening to music from her datapad.

The Jedi didn't have that option on the Resilience, however, not if they were going to eat breakfast. The officer's mess hall had fewer people, so it would be quieter, but Kiera didn't want to eat there.

"You say you like people, but you would rather eat with the clones than the officers. Why?" Arvil asked. "Kiera, we do this every time you're on board the _Resilience_. You can't pretend you don't have a reason." The Cathar poked her fork at the nerf strips on the plate in front of her, but the girl's full attention was on the Human across from her.

Kiera avoided her friend's gaze, and looked at her own meal: runny nuna eggs, blumfruit sauce that was too sour, a stale pastry and the ever present military caf that tasted like one of the clones' dirty socks got stuck in the caf maker.

"Kiera…" The Corellian could sense that Arvil was annoyed at her, but was trying really hard not to be—was trying, in fact, to be the picture of a calm Jedi that looked and sounded like nothing in the galaxy would ever ruffle her fur. Kiera disliked Arvil's habit of denying her feelings, rather than acknowledging them and letting them go, like a Jedi should. It was one of the reasons the Cathar hadn't been made a Knight yet.

And it was that, more than anything, that made up Kiera's mind.

"You really want to know why I don't like eating in the officer's mess?" Kiera slowly breathed out through her nose, and reached for the Force for calm. "Admiral Naji is a good man, but most of the officers on this ship are upper class; they have their heads in the clouds, they're glory hounds … no offence to rich people, but these officers seem to cover every upper class stereotype."

Arvil's ears twitched in amusement. "They can be rather arrogant, I admit. But, I sense there's more to it than your dislike of their personality."

Kiera picked up her cup and took a gulp of caf. _Oh, please, Arvil. Don't go there… Yuck_. She swallowed, and glared at the caf. _Force, I've forgotten how bad this stuff is._

The Cathar, apparently, didn't take the hint. Or she chose to ignore it. "You still haven't forgiven Barrett, have you? Kiera, a Jedi isn't supposed to hold grudges."

"Captain Barrett Dalton," Kiera said, her upper lip curled in distaste, "hit on me the first time I set foot on this ship. That's not something I'll forget."

"To be fair, you didn't look like a Jedi at the time."

_And sure, he's young for a ship's Captain, and he was nice about it. But it's not hard to notice that he doesn't like Jedi, and he won't call the clones by name_. Kiera shook her head. That man was a jerk, and that was all there was to it.

Kiera took out her datapad and placed it next to her plate. "Let's just get to work, shall we?" She stuffed a forkful of egg into her mouth, and kept talking around it. "You can make a list of all known darksiders—alive, please—and I'll see if I can find anything in the Republic databases about Mandalorians that could identify the girl I saw. That symbol on her armor might mean something."

Arvil smirked. "Yes, Knight Jodell."

Kiera frowned, and flicked a piece of egg at the Padawan. Arvil laughed.

~#~

The meditation session with the other Jedi that morning had gone well. Arvil and her Master had arrived not long after Kiera did, and it hadn't taken long for the young woman to tell them about her Visions.

When she had finished, they had sat in silence for a while, meditating on what they had heard. Kiera's mind had kept returning to the Mandalorian girl in her first Vision. There was a connection there, but of what kind, Kiera did not know. She did have a feeling that the symbol of a flying predator clutching a bolt of lightning might be a clue to discovering the girl's identity.

Master Trael had suggested that the Dark Jedi was important, as he had been present in both visions.

It was Lindi Moor, Arvil's Master, who had reminded them what Visions meant, for Jedi. If the Visions Kiera had were of the future, the Nautolan had reasoned, then all the planning and research in the galaxy would mean nothing. The future was always in motion. If they were of the past or present, there was little Kiera could do about them. The Force would reveal the reason for the Visions, in time.

Kiera knew Knight Moor was right. And she felt that both were messages, and not warnings. Not warnings of any urgency, at any rate. They were to prepare her for something that was coming. Kiera also felt, however, that it wouldn't hurt to try and get some information out of the Visions.

That was what led Kiera and Arvil to do research in the mess hall during breakfast.

Kiera eyed her datapad, and scrolled through the results of her search on Mandalorians in the Republic's database. _Mandalorian Iron… no… New Mandalorian Society, no… ah, here we go—Mandalorians: Identity and Its Influence on Genome, Mandalorians: Identity and Language, Mandalorians: History, and Mandalorians: People and Culture…all_ _essays written by a women named Nerak Visstra_. _Now I just have to look for information on armor and symbols_. Kiera's finger hovered over the first article, then hesitated. She could just scan each article, looking for the information she wanted… or she could download them onto her datapad, and read them without a Holonet connection. Impulsively, Kiera highlighted all four articles and tapped the download sign. She wasn't completely sure why… she just felt like she should.

Exiting the databases, Kiera opened her documents and clicked on 'downloads.' The Corellian wasn't completely sure which article had what she was looking for. But based on the titles, People and Culture looked promising.

Before opening the article, Kiera thought back on what she knew of Mandalorians, and had to admit it wasn't much. She knew all about the role the mercenaries had played in history, how they had fought for the Sith, and against the Sith, but had always looked after their own interests, rather than for the good of the galaxy. There were a few exceptions to the warriors' mercenary take on life—like Canderous Ordo—but most lived in the fringe of society. One would be more likely to find a Mando in a bar than in a bookstore.

She had to admit, however, that her personal experience had left her a little biased.

The first time she heard someone talk about the Mandalorians outside of the classroom was when Master Trael first took her to visit her family on Corellia. While Trael Zanin wasn't Corellian, he respected the traditions of the Corellian Jedi, and had taught Kiera to do so as well. That included keeping in touch with her relatives; her grandparents, her aunt and uncle, her cousins. While she knew that her mother had a falling out with her family, she didn't know if she was alive or not. Signe Jodell had disappeared the day Kiera arrived at the Jedi Temple as an infant. No one knew who her father was.

Kiera had been twelve when she first sat down for a family dinner in her grandparents' home. When she learned her Grandpa, Goran Jodell, was the Deputy Commissioner of Corellian Security, she had excitedly asked him about his job. He had been more than happy to tell her, and even went into detail on a police raid he had been in charge of earlier that day—a raid on a weapons smuggler. Most of the smuggler's bodyguards had been Mandalorian.

_"Mandalorians,"_ Grandpa had said, _"are nothing but criminals—mercenaries, bounty hunters. Savages that prey on the weak. You would do well to avoid them, if you can."_ The derision in the man's voice had been audible, his hatred of the Mandalorians just bubbling under the surface.

After dinner, her master had taken her aside, and told Kiera that her Grandfather's view on Mandalorians was not entirely accurate. _"They are a warrior culture, and they need to make a living like anyone else. Mandalorians are dangerous only if you meet them in battle, if there is a bounty on your head, or you insult them. Tread carefully, and you will come to no harm."_

Kiera had to admit that, excited with the novelty of meeting her family, she hadn't listened to Master Trael. And her experiences over the years had done little to disprove her Grandpa's words.

The first time she had met a Mandalorian, Kiera had been fifteen. She and Master Trael had been in the process of bringing down a slave trader on Coruscant when several of his Lieutenants had been found murdered. Eventually they had found the murderer—a woman Mandalorian. She claimed to have been sold into slavery by the trader's organization, and had vowed to bring the operation down. Master Trael had suggested they work together, but the woman had vehemently refused. _"I won't work with _Jetiise_. You want to arrest those _shabuire_—I want to make them pay. Those monsters don't deserve a trial."_

While the Jedi had eventually caught the slave trader, their job had been made more difficult. The woman with golden armor had gotten in their way several times during the mission, and when it was all said and done Kiera was left feeling that her Grandpa had been right about Mandos.

Over the next few years, Kiera had met two other Mandalorians. One had been hired by a crime lord to kill her and Master Trael. The other had been a bartender that gave them some useful information that helped them hunt down a serial killer. The bartender had been a nice man, with an easy smile and an open, teasing personality that made it hard to not like him, but he couldn't quite make up for Kiera's experiences with other Mandalorians.

As the young Jedi started reading Visstra's essay on the warrior culture, Kiera had a feeling that her previous interactions with Mandalorians would hardly be enough for what was ahead.

~#~

Jetiise (JAY-tee-see): Jedi, plural

**A/N:** Not too exciting, but necessary for character development and the like.

A great big thank you to LongLiveTheClones for betaing this chapter, and for her support. I'd also like to thank CC-645 for the reminder to use ABG and not BBY (I fixed that in the previous chapters), and laloga and spikala for their reviews. I didn't expect to get this much of a following already, and you readers have made me very happy. I've already started the next chapter, and will have it out by next month or earlier.


	4. The Lion We Cage

**War: Sentinel**

"_You're a liar but I'm a coward so I can't throw a stone/ We're so imperfect but so worth it because we're not alone._

_It's the wars that we wage, the lives that we take for better or for worse _

_It's the lion we cage, the love and the rage that keeps us wanting more"_

_We As Human—'The Way We Fall Apart'_

**Chapter Three: The Lion We Cage**

_**Traffic Interdiction Vessel (TIV)**_

"Republic Cruiser _Resilience_, this is Traffic Interdiction Vessel Z588/3, requesting permission to land. Over." Joyride leaned back in the pilot's seat, and his helmet tilted to the side, as if he was eyeing Shadow. The pilot had been doing that a lot lately.

The _Resilience_ lay before them, the system's distant sun illuminating her gray and red hull in all her glory. The TIV drifted 'under' the Cruiser, the shadow of the larger ship covering the shuttle like a mother Arkanian dragon's wing covers her chick.

Shadow leaned against the doorframe of the cockpit, his helmet on. None of the clones had taken their buckets off since they left Taris, and on the trip to the rendezvous, had mostly kept their thoughts to themselves. Shadow had stood in the entrance of the cockpit and contemplated the stars as they flew through hyperspace, while Joyride had fiddled with the ships controls or his datapad. Forr and Tracyn took turns guarding the terrified Saresh, while Jatne sat on a bench and stared at the bulkheads.

As soon as they had exited hyperspace, Shadow had called Kelborn, with an unrealistic hope that his mentor had simply lost his _beskad_ at Saresh's. He knew that was extremely unlikely, but he had to try—to find some evidence to disprove the Twi'lek's belief of Kelborn's death.

There had been no answer.

The easy explanation was that Dajun Kelborn was in a tricky situation in his undercover op, and couldn't answer. It was more likely that he had been captured. Shadow straightened his back and shifted his feet. He wanted information, and he couldn't get it now. But he could get it soon. They just had to hand Saresh over to the Jedi, and he could release Forr on a computer terminal. If Kelborn had been captured, the Republic might know. Maybe Epsilon Squad could rescue him.

Jatne lifted his head at his sergeant's movement, but said nothing.

A brother's voice came over the com. "Traffic Interdiction Vessel Z588/3, you are cleared to land. Generals Zanin and Morr are waiting for you."

"Copy that." Joyride gripped the shuttle's controls, and took them up in a long curve around to the other side of the Resilience, then over to the docking bay on the top. The TIV descended, and as the Republic Cruiser swallowed the stars, Shadow had none of the relaxed yet elated feelings of 'coming home' he always had when headed to a safe location filled with brothers. The clone was just anxious; he hated not knowing.

They passed through the permeable shield that kept the air in ship, and flew down toward the end of the brightly lit hanger, passing larties and V-19s on either side, until they reached an open spot on the left. As Joyride took the shuttle in for a smooth landing, Shadow caught a glimpse of two Jedi out the cockpit viewport.

Shadow turned to enter the passenger compartment, but Joyride cleared his throat, making the commando pause. "Sergeant… I know Dajun Kelborn's disappearance's got the squad all tied up in knots," Joyride said. "And I understand why you won't tell me what happened back there, but I want you to know, sir, that I'll help, if I can."

Shadow nodded slowly. Joyride had taken them to and from several operations, and had become friends with the squad. He was a good pilot, and was special operations just as much as any of them. "Thank you." Shadow patted Joyride's shoulder. "You're a good _vod_."

"You're welcome, sir." Joyride responded, sounding a little embarrassed. "And… thank you."

The commando stepped into the passenger compartment, Joyride following. At Shadow's entrance, Jatne stood up and moved to flank him, while Tracyn and Forr stood on either side of Rarr Taa Saresh. Shadow looked down on the Twi'lek, and felt his insides recoil. He didn't think he'd ever felt this way about someone on such a short acquaintance. It wasn't hatred, even if Shadow could be forgiven for feeling that way toward Saresh; the _hut'uun _was at least partly responsible for Dajun Kelborn's disappearance, after all. No, the Twi'lek simply disgusted the sergeant. Shadow wanted him out of his sight.

Saresh was still sprawled on the deck where Shadow had dropped him hours ago. He still wore only boxers and a pair of stun cuffs, and the entire shuttle stunk of the slaver's foul sweat and fear.

"Pick him up," Shadow said harshly, motioning to Tracyn and Forr.

"Yes, Sarge," Forr said, as he and the demolitions expert hauled the fat Twi'lek to his feet. Under his helmet, Shadow frowned. Forr sounded distant, as if he wasn't really focused on what he was doing. Shadow would have to talk to him. If Epsilon Squad was going to find Dajun Kelborn, they would all have to be focused. They couldn't afford to be distracted, not when they first had to convince their superiors that a rescue mission was a good idea.

~#~

**_Resilience, port mess hall_**

"_In five millennia, the Mandalorians fought with and against a thousand armies on a thousand worlds. They learned to speak as many languages and absorbed weapons technology and tactics from every war. And yet, despite the overwhelming influence of alien cultures, and the absence of a true homeworld and even species, their own language not only survived but changed little, their way of life and their philosophy remained untouched, and their ideals and sense of family, of identify, of nation, were only strengthened._"

―Mandalorians: Identity and Language

Kiera was jarred from her reading when her comlink vibrated. She set her fork down and fished the comlink out of its belt pouch. _Hope it's nothing important_. While Kiera hadn't gotten any closer to finding out what the Mandalorian's symbol meant, she was finding the essays fascinating. Her history and society Temple classes had never gone into this much depth on Mandos. Kiera moved her thumb over the comlink's screen, and opened the text:

"The Republic Intelligence agent decided to interrogate Saresh before the briefing. It's going to be postponed. Meet me at the interrogation room in half an hour. Keep in mind what we learn will be need to know."—Trael

"What was that?" Arvil asked.

Kiera sighed. "Hurry up and wait, for you at least. Master Trael and I are interrogating Saresh before the briefing." _The Agent probably knew he would be switching things around_, the Jedi thought. Still, despite her mild annoyance, Kiera felt a spark of curiosity rise in her. This might prove to be interesting.

Arvil nodded. "Ah."

"General, Commander, mind if we sit here?" A voice asked.

Kiera and Arvil looked up to see three clones laden with food standing next to the table, all wearing the tyrian purple markings of the 315th Legion; Captain Ari, Lieutenant Vince, and the head medic, Sergeant Knife.

"Go ahead, boys," Kiera said, smiling. "You know we don't mind."

"Thank you, sir." The Captain nodded his head in respect. They sat down, Ari and Knife on Kiera's left and Vince on Arvil's.

The Corellian smirked. "Nice haircut, Captain."

Ari ran a hand over his military short, 2 inch wide Mohawk. "Thanks, sir. I got bored with the usual haircut a few months ago, and decided to try something new. It's kinda grown on me."

Vince ran a thumb over his goatee. "I still think he just wants to be noticed by one of the _Resilience_'s civilian contractors." He arched an eyebrow suggestively. Knife laughed into his cup, while Arvil rolled her eyes.

Kiera smiled, happy to see these three again. She had first met them just a month into the War, when she was only seventeen, and knew almost nothing about clones. They had taught her that clones were people, and had hopes, dreams, and fears just like anyone else. In fact, partly because of their influence, Kiera had named Knife and a few others in the company.

Kiera and her former Master had fought alongside General Morr and her men a few times over the years, and the Corellian had grown close to these men. Each of them was different, and in a way the Jedi was fascinated by them and the different subcultures the clones had. While there were some things they all shared, as part of their legacy from Kamino, each branch of the GAR was different. As Sentinels, Trael and Kiera bounced around quite a bit, going where they were needed. As a result, Kiera had spent time with the marines and a squad of commandos as well as the 315th. Each group was a little different.

"General? Can I ask what you're reading?"

Kiera looked up at Ari, and nodded. "I'm doing some research on Mandalorians. They might have a role to play in the coming mission."

The Captain nodded, his eyes thoughtful. Vince scowled. "I hope we don't meet any, sir. They killed a lot of brothers, the first few months of the war."

Knife nodded thoughtfully. "True, but not all of them worked for the Seppies. And they mostly stay out of the war now."

"I'd have to agree with the Lieutenant, Kiera," Arvil said. "Mandalorians, as mercenaries, sale their skills to the highest bidder. Doesn't encourage trust, especially when they don't like Jedi."

And that, Kiera thought, was the crux of the matter, at least for her. The last few Mandalores had been decidedly anti-Jedi. The Mandalorians had lost a lot of warriors during the Galidraan incident, and according to Visstra, one of the results of Galidraan had been a gradual fading of culture in some of the Clans. The way a lot of Mandos saw it, the Jedi had a lot to answer for.

Kiera wasn't sure she saw it that way. The Jedi report said while hired to take care of a local rebellion by Galidraan's Governor, the Mandalorians had killed civilians. According to Visstra, the Mandos were framed by the terrorist group Death Watch. Kiera didn't know whose point of view was correct, but either way, the mercenaries had fired the first shot. If they had been innocent, then they should've surrendered. The Jedi would've discovered the truth.

"With respect, General," Ari said, "if you do meet Mandos in the coming mission, those commandos could assist with… negotiating or understanding their code of honor, their tactics. Whatever's necessary." The Captain inclined his head toward the mess hall's entrance, brown eyes unreadable. But he wasn't unreadable to the Force. Kiera felt his emotions spike, filled with unease and an odd, grudging respect.

Kiera frowned, and looked over her shoulder at the door. It wasn't hard to spot the clones Ari was talking about. In a sea of white and purple striped armor, gray uniforms and red fatigues, the commandos' matte gray armor stood out like a Wookiee at a Sullustan family reunion. But their armor wasn't just gray—each of them had different colors and patterns over the gray background; black and green, navy, orange and blue, red and yellow. Even without their unique armor, Kiera would have spotted them easily. Their emotions were a wild, tangled mess. Fear, anger, hope, determination, and worry hovered over each member of the squad, to varying degrees. Kiera wondered what had happened that upset them so much.

"Why do you think they could help? Do you know them?" Kiera asked.

"I know of them, sir. The men in Epsilon squad were trained by Mandalorians." Ari drew his eyebrows together in a frown. "As were most of the commandos."

_Ah. That explains it_, Kiera thought. The commandos made Ari uneasy because of who trained them, but they had his respect, because they were still brothers.

Vince, however, didn't seem to feel that way. "Fekking Mando lovers," he mumbled under his breath. Still glaring at the Special Forces clones, he stood, tray in hand. "I'm gonna get some seconds, Knife. Save my spot, will you?"

The Lieutenant walked back to the line, agitation boiling under the surface.

~#~

**_Resilience, port mess hall_**

As it turned out, the _manda_, or the Force, or Something/Someone was looking out for them.

"So they want us in the Misha invasion?" Tracyn asked thoughtfully. "I wonder what for."

Shadow frowned. "I just hope, whatever our mission, it'll let us find out what happened to Sergeant Dajun."

"Me, too," Forr said over his shoulder, as he walked ahead of the rest of the squad toward the line. "But I don't like how Agent Tridan had his men go behind our backs and purge Saresh's computers before we got there. We could have done that."

Shadow nodded, a little ticked off about that. Agent Tridan said they thought the Seppies might intercept the squad, so it would be better to split up the information. What a load of _osik_. Shadow thought it was just because the spook didn't trust clones.

"Well, what do you expect from RI?" Jatne asked bitterly. "They don't trust anyone. I've heard they'll even snub Jedi."

"No wonder the War's going as it is," Tracyn snorted. "If Special Forces and the _shabla_ spooks can't work together…" As the discussion continued, the commando's steps slowed.

"Hey, _vode_!" Forr turned and walked backwards a few steps, quite a feat in the crowded mess hall. "I'd like to eat breakfast sometime today."

"Go ahead, Forr," Shadow said, feeling his lips twitch in the beginning of a grin. "We'll catch up." While the rest of the squad and Joyride were probably just as hungry as Forr, the slicer had always been more impatient. His brothers were acting like themselves, but that worried the sergeant; they had taken the disappearance of Kelborn hard, and he worried that they were hiding their true feelings, the way he was.

Tracyn glanced at him, and Shadow felt a shot of worry run through him. No, Tracyn wasn't hiding; in fact, his expression was almost accusing. Shadow knew what his brother was thinking, and narrowed his eyes. _No, I'm not in denial, and no, I'm not giving Jatne and Forr false hope. I won't believe Dajun Kelborn is dead until I see proof._

Joyride fell into step next to Shadow. "Sergeant? Can I ask you a question?" He sounded hesitant.

"Of course you can."

Joyride didn't speak right away. His shoulders were tense, his brows drawn together, as if in deep thought. Finally, he spoke. "I've heard that Sergeant Kelborn is missing, and I know he was your training sergeant, but… why… ?" The pilot grimaced.

"Why do I care so much?" Shadow asked gently, feeling a surge of pity for Joyride. He spent most of his time with brothers, and knew few Jedi, let alone civilians. He didn't understand.

An enraged, wordless shout called out from the food line. Every clone in the room jerked their heads around, like a pack of strills catching a scent in the wind. Shadow's eyes rested on the source of commotion, and felt his heart sink.

Forr was easy enough to spot with his red hair and dark armor. As usual, he was in the middle of it, but not in the way the Sergeant expected. Despite the commando's mischievous personality and enjoyment at being the center of attention, Forr rarely started fights. However, trading blows with a lieutenant from the 315th , the commando looked more than ready to finish this one. Only seconds after the fight started, onlookers circled the fighters, egging them on. Shadow felt a surge of annoyance and anger flood through him. Manda_, why did Forr have to do this _now_?_

Tracyn and Jatne tensed, their faces dark with anger, ready to jump into the fight and back up their brother. Shadow couldn't let that happen. It wasn't unusual for clones to fight, but when they did they were encouraged to face off in the gym under supervision. A brawl in the mess hall—or anywhere else, for that matter—was unprofessional and disgraceful. It could also get the participants in a _lot_ of trouble.

"Check!" Shadow barked, putting an officer's full weight of superiority and righteous indignation behind the word. He was more than loud enough to cut through the rising noise in the mess—right next to the sergeant, Joyride flinched, surprised, while Jatne and Tracyn halted midstride. Forr's reaction to the command was more impressive. When Shadow shouted the command, Forr had just landed a punch to the Lieutenant's jaw, sending him back several feet, swaying. Forr froze in place at his sergeant's order, breathing heavily.

Each commando had been trained since they could walk to stop what they were doing when their training sergeant told them to 'check.' More than stop—to freeze. It had been a way to keep them from doing something stupid during the early years. Later on, during live fire practice, the command kept the cadets alive. When a commando's sergeant told him to 'check,' he froze. No matter what.

Shadow strode forward, brushing past Tracyn and Jatne. When they saw his face, they followed, subdued. Joyride brought up the rear. 'Check' might mean nothing to a regular trooper, but they were more than willing to get out of the commandos' way, and parted before them like water before a boat. Shadow stepped up to the edge of the ring, his squad brothers flanking him. On the other side, an army captain with a short Mohawk and a kama pushed his way through his men. His eyes met Shadow's, and they nodded.

Forr's opponent looked back and forth between the two officers, face flushed. Shadow's squad mate just shot a guilty look at the sergeant.

"Attention!" The Captain shouted. Every clone in the room snapped to attention… except Shadow. He stood at a modified at ease, back strait, hands clasped behind his back, feet spread shoulder width apart. Forr was his man. This was a Special Forces incident too—he wasn't going to let this army captain pull rank on him and gain a psychological advantage.

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "What happened here? Lieutenant?"

The trooper's jaw clenched, his dark eyes focused on Forr. His mouth opened, but he said nothing.

"Forr," Shadow said, his voice dangerously soft. "What the _shab_ happened?"

The commando winced. "Sir! He… he said we couldn't be trusted, because we were trained by Mandalorians. And he called Daj'_buir _a renegade and said he was probably working for the Separatists!"

Jatne angrily growled under his breath, and Tracyn swore softly. Shadow's face tightened, and he shot an angry glare at the Lieutenant, but he also felt a twinge of regret. Forr, Jatne, and a few of Sergeant Kelborn's other former trainees had started calling Dajun _Buir_ after the Clone Wars started, but Shadow had never been able to bring himself to call him anything but 'Sergeant.' He couldn't hope for something that might never happen.

As for the Lieutenant's insults… this wasn't the first time a _vod_ had refused to understand his own Mandalorian heritage. But it still hurt. And this was the worst possible time to have to deal with it.

"Vince, is this true?" The Captain asked his brother.

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Vince said sullenly.

The Captain exchanged an exasperated look with another brother—a medic—than frowned at Vince. _Glad to see I'm not the only one fed up with this _osik_,_ Shadow thought sourly.

"Vince, you should know better than to piss off a commando. And you're a Lieutenant, dammit. This is highly unprofessional, not to mention a bad example for the men. You do realize I can't just let this go?" The Captain asked, disappointment clear in his voice.

The trooper nodded slowly.

"And you," the Captain said, turning to Forr. Shadow winced inwardly. _Here it comes_. He doubted this brother would understand commandos any better than his Lieutenant did.

"With all due respect, sir," Shadow interrupted. "I'm his commanding officer, not you. I'll handle this."

The Captain studied Shadow, his brown eyes narrowed. He nodded slowly.

Shadow turned to Forr, and exhaled slowly, annoyed. _Di'kut_. The sergeant didn't say anything until Forr rocked a little on his feet, visibly uneasy. "Did you throw the first punch?" Shadow finally asked.

The redhead winced and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Yes, sir."

Shadow raised an eyebrow, hiding the rioting feelings of anger and irritation inside. "Lieutenant Vince insulted the man we consider a father and questioned our loyalty. You would have been well within your rights to challenge him to a one-on-one. Why didn't you?"

At this, Vince's eyes widened, and several gasps came from the watching clones. Forr flinched. The one-on-one was taken from the Mandalorian tradition of the Battle Circle. These duals were a way of solving conflicts that couldn't be solved by discussion. A one-on-one took place in the gym, with rules and a medic and commanding officer present. These contests prevented the conflicts from boiling over into the clones' duties—and when brothers had to count on the only family most had to watch their back, resentment wasn't something anyone could afford. However, some Jedi—and by extension, Legions and companies—disliked the 'barbaric' way of solving arguments.

As the Captain's face tightened, Shadow wondered what General Morr and her Commanders thought of one-on-ones.

Forr lowered his eyes. "I, uh… I guess I didn't think of it."

"No, you didn't _think_." Shadow regretted his harsh tone immediately, and lowered his voice. "I know we'll all on edge right now, but that's no excuse." Shadow turned to the Captain. "Should we discuss their punishments privately, sir?" His tone was respectful, but it was a suggestion more than a request.

The Army Captain nodded. "Lieutenant, Private. Come with us."

_~#~_

When the fight broke out, Kiera and Arvil had stayed seated; they could see what was happening in a gap in the crowd, and despite the Cathar's insistence, Kiera wanted to let the clone officers handle it. She knew Ari well enough to guess what he would do, but she wanted to see how the commandos would deal with the situation. There was a good chance they would be working together in the coming mission, and the Jedi wanted to 'scout out' their personalities before they met.

Watching the commando sergeant interact with his men and Captain Ari, Kiera decided he was an intelligent warrior, dangerous to his enemies, fiercely loyal to his friends. Fairly typical of Special Forces clones, but Kiera was mildly impressed with how Shadow deflected Ari's attempt at pulling rank, and gained control of the situation himself.

Captain Ari turned to the Jedi. "General, Commander. Do you want to join us?"

Several clones jumped slightly and exchanged guilty looks, as if they had forgot the Jedi were there. Vince and the red haired commando—Forr—looked horrified. Kiera felt a shot of embarrassment from Sergeant Shadow, as if he hadn't even noticed they were there. She understood; a Jedi could see that the commandos weren't themselves. All four of them were a riot of conflicting emotions. Kiera hoped they could keep it under control for the coming mission.

Kiera stood up, Arvil following her lead. The auburn-haired woman could sense that Arvil wanted to say something, but Kiera nudged her in the Force, the Jedi equalivant of a frown. _Let me handle this._

They stopped in front of the clone officers, and Kiera looked Ari in the eye, which was easy to do, considering she was only a few inches shorter than the clones. "I'm sure you know what's best, Captain." The Jedi Sentinel glanced at Shadow. "But whatever you decide, we'll need your entire squad in the coming mission, Sergeant. I know temporary suspensions are common punishments for fighting, but that won't work this time."

The commando nodded. "I understand, ma'am."

Kiera glanced over his kit. She had found the little differences in a clone's armor and weapons could tell a lot about the man. His armor was gray streaked with black, and his gauntlets and kneepads were a dark green. Kiera thought there was some green on his helmet as well, but she couldn't see it well, as it was hooked on his belt. Shadow's armor bore the marks of years of battle—scratches, stains, scuffing. His weapons were relatively typical for a commando, except for the sword he wore across his back. Kiera wondered what its story was.

The Jedi broke off her observations—which had only taken about a second—when she noticed the clone's eyes had left her face and moved downwards. Kiera knew he wasn't 'checking her out,' but was studying her, soldier to soldier. To her mortification, her body didn't seem to agree with her mind, and Kiera felt her cheeks flush. She prayed to the Force no one noticed. Things like this usually didn't bother her.

Shadow's attention rested on her blaster, than he looked again to her face, honey-brown eyes curious. On a sudden impulse, Kiera spoke. "I'm General Kiera Jodell, Jedi Knight." She nodded at her friend. "This is Commander Arvil Syhr, and Captain Ari." The young woman stuck her hand out in greeting.

Surprise flickered across the commando's face, then he nodded and shook her hand, his grip firm, but gentle. Kiera felt her blue eyes widen as he looked into hers. There was a whisper in the Force, like a sound just beyond her hearing, a smell she couldn't quite catch. Then Shadow let go of her hand, and as fast as the feeling came, it was gone.

In her surprise, Kiera almost lost his introductions. "I'm RC-5739, Shadow. Epsilon Squad's Sergeant. These are my brothers, Forr, Jatne, and Tracyn."

Kiera smiled at the clones, but her mind was elsewhere. The Force had tried to tell her something, and she wondered if she would learn anything if she meditated_. I've been meditating a lot recently. Wish the Force would just give me a picture instead of puzzle pieces_. The Jedi glanced at Shadow, who was watching her curiously, as if there was something about her he didn't understand.

"Nice to meet you," Kiera said.

"General, can I ask you something?" Shadow spoke up, his presence hopeful.

Kiera blinked in surprise. "Go ahead."

Shadow let out a slow breath, his expression carefully blank, but Kiera could sense the strange mix of hope and desperation that had prodded him to ask. "I heard you will be helping interrogate Saresh, ma'am. Is there any chance I could be there when you do?"

Kiera reached her senses out to the commando, wondering why he wanted to see the interrogation. She felt determination, but harsher, darker emotions coiled just below the surface, wanting out of the box the clone had locked them in. Those emotions were buried so deep, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen when they were set loose. "I'm sorry, Sergeant," the Corellian said softly. "I wouldn't mind, but General Zanin was very specific about who is cleared to be there." _He said it was need to know, and Shadow wasn't invited. The rule's been laid down, and I doubt I could change that. And I can't help but feel Shadow _shouldn't_ be there._

The clone nodded slowly, hiding his disappointment. "I understand, General."

"See to your men," Kiera said, glancing to Ari, then back to Shadow. "I'll see you both at the briefing."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, General."

The crowd had dispersed at the arrival of the Jedi, leaving the officers and the troublemakers, while the pilot with the commandos lingered a few feet away. Shadow turned to his squad and began speaking to them in a hard, rhythmic language, while Captain Ari stepped closer to the Jedi. "He must really want to learn what Saresh knows, sir," he said. "On first impression, I doubt he frequently asks for favors."

Kiera nodded slowly. "I think so, too."

The Captain nodded farewell and turned to round up Shadow and the trouble makers. Kiera and Arvil walked back to their breakfast.

"What was that?" Arvil asked.

"What do you mean?" Kiera asked, playing dumb.

Arvil scoffed. "You know what I mean. What happened between you and the Sergeant? I sensed…something. Did the Force tell you something?"

"I don't know," Kiera said softly. "I don't know."

_~#~_

_Manda:_ Heaven, and/or the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body, and soul.

Daj_'buir_: Papa Dajun. Father.

_~#~_

**A/N:** I know this is a little late, but I was on vacation for two weeks with limited access to my computer, and then fall semester started. :P Actually, my classes are pretty cool, for the most part. History is a little meh, but a required class is a required class. Intro to Administration of Justice, though? I think I'm in love. :D

Although, because of classes I won't be able to update as much as I had hoped. But I will keep writing. Just bug me if I don't update for a few months.

Thanks to LongLiveTheClones for betaing, and thanks to her and laloga for reviewing last chapter!

As always, review, please. :D


End file.
